It was a weekend of me crying more than I thought I would.
My dear, dear friend Hannah and her wonderful boyfriend Max managed to come to little Gallatin County to stay with me for just one brief night. I had been emotionally unstable all day waiting for Hannah- I hadn’t seen her in over 2 years. What would I feel? Was she different? How was Max?
As soon as she pulled up with Max all of those things left so quickly I couldn’t imagine them being there in the first place. Hannah’s smile was exactly as it had always been. Her pitch of voice, the way we hugged- it was the same. She seemed happier, and more centered, both of which I was very glad of. Max was quiet, composed, and unbelievably tall. They came in, took showers, and we went downtown and ate food, very good food.
We collapsed at my house, despite the fact that Hannah had gotten into graduate school and we were supposed to celebrate. We did by watching The Office, which was perfect.
In the morning we went to the Stockyard Cafe and then garage sale-ing, which was awesome. I found a lovely Argus C3 from 1952, and even loaded it up with film while I was waiting for Hannah to keep buying books (this is why we are friends- she left with 10 books!). Then we made a final stop at La Tinga for some lunch before my dear friends had to hop on the road. I was not ready for them to leave, but they were on a tight schedule.
Hannah and Max got into the car, and packed up their things. I realized that Hannah and I will always be friends, even if now she and Max have a life together, even if she is moving back to Switzerland, even if she never comes back to America, but it still was very hard to watch them back out of my parking lot and go. I had to run inside and cry.
Later Chris came over so we could grab dinner. We walked to the Bacchus in the summer evening. I wore a dress that was the colors of a watermelon and we drank outside and ate, people watching and laughing and making conversation. To me, it seems as though I could talk and talk to Chris until my tongue falls out- there’s always going to be a tangent, an angle, a conversational path to go down. It’s rather marvelous.
The next morning Chris came over to make breakfast. I am a useless cook, sadly. We ran to the grocery store for extra ingredients, then to his haus to grab cheese and something else. We listened to Chicago on the record machine, and I marveled at a painting of roses in his room. We looked at 4×5 prints he’d made, all gorgeously shadowed and nuanced. I love looking at people’s pictures- they are a small, biased gateway into their mind- and Chris’s photographs are perfectionist-like but playful, full of a zest I was drawn to.
Eventually we were able to get everything together and make breakfast more towards dinner time. Chris chopped up vegetables and melted butter while I grated cheese and put biscuits in the oven. I photographed his preparation and his dextrous hands chopping everything. Then, we ate a magnificent meal before I had to go home.
Another weekend that was so beautiful, done.